


Favours

by Veronae



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: 'cause Henry be like that, Birthday Cake, Birthday Smut, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Cake Smut, Canon Compliant, Champagne, Feels, Flirting, Fluff, Idiots in Love, LGBTQ Themes, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content, Teasing, Unresolved Emotional Tension, i really really hate the cake, just like i'm not over that fucking cake, seriously the names are ridiculous i'm not over it yet, so naturally I wrote smut about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21717949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veronae/pseuds/Veronae
Summary: Buttercream swirls haunt his nightmares.Henry got Alex a cupcake for his birthday, and they do sexy things with it.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 24
Kudos: 266





	Favours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArchieGoodwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchieGoodwin/gifts).



Henry has no idea how long he’ll have to wait for Alex to arrive. Still, he’s glad they’ve both kept enough blood in their brains to take some precautions about sharing a hotel room.

They didn’t see each other for Henry’s birthday; given that he rarely feels especially grateful to be alive, Henry wasn’t overly bothered to miss whatever excess he’s sure Alex would have planned. He had been perfectly satisfied with some insulting banter followed by spontaneous midnight phone sex.

Bored and tired, Henry’s jet-lagged brain offers a random idea that tickles not only his funny-bone but a few others as well, and after a quick internet search he’s got one of his people hot-footing it to a nearby bakery.

For the most part, Henry’s stopped being nervous about meeting Alex. So far everything has gone swimmingly, the press adoring their apparent ‘bromance’, his own family predominantly oblivious. He’s not sure who knows about things on Alex’s side, beyond the PPOs, but he’s not too concerned about that - partly because of the NDA but largely because he’s far too fucking giddy about the whole thing to give any fucks.

Maybe he’ll regret his own carelessness, but today is not that day.

No, today is the first day he’s seen Alex in  _ weeks _ , and hot and cold waves of ever-building anticipation shiver over his skin, setting his insides on fire, making him thirsty.

Since Alex is not yet at hand to quench his desire, Henry instead drops cross-legged to the floor by the bar fridge and smiles as he yanks the door open to inspect its contents. He’s not at all surprised to find more than one bottle of high-end champagne.

Not bothering with an ice bucket or, indeed, a glass, Henry unfoils and unwires the bottle, twists the cork free with practiced fingers, and raises the bottle to his lips. Cold fizz bursts over his tongue.

Shortly later, caught between half the bottle and general travel fatigue, Henry’s brain tips towards unshakeable doziness. He’s curled up on the couch, head tipped over the armrest, snoozing without  _ quite  _ being unconscious when the cupcake arrives.

The icing is a tall, dense whirl of buttercream and the cake smells delightfully fresh. Henry thanks the man and sends him away, then eyes the treat with a tipsily critical eye. 

Buttercream swirls haunt his nightmares.

Otherwise, it looks delicious. It probably tastes delicious. 

Henry rests it on the coffee table and checks the time - it’s been a little over an hour since he crept up stairs like a fugitive and he’s tired of waiting. Every minute they’re near each other is precious heaven and this,  _ this  _ is wasteful. He’s just reaching for his phone to send Alex an exceptionally rude text intended to make him move his arse when there’s a faint click and the hotel room door swings inwards.

Breath snagging in his chest, Henry blinks up as Alex strides in, slamming the door unceremoniously behind him as he rushes over. He’s pretending to be cool, but his eyes are dark with desperation ... and something almost smug unfurls inside Henry’s chest.

Alex launches towards him, throws himself onto Henry’s lap and grabs his face in both hands. He kisses him, hard and breathless, grinding his arse purposefully against Henry’s thighs. Hands shift frantic and random across his body, shoving at his clothes, pulling at his shirt with futile tugs. He gets two buttons open, and gives up.

“Fuck’s sake,” Alex growls against his mouth, breaking the kiss. “Why aren’t you naked already?”

“Well, I was,” Henry lies easily. “But you took so long to get here I got cold.”

“Then you should’ve got  _ into the bed _ ,” Alex snaps back, scowling with half his face and grinning with the rest. He kisses Henry again, rough and quick, then pulls away. Licking his lips, he arches an eyebrow and says, “Did you start drinking without me?”

“You’ve got some catching up to do,” Henry confirms with a smile. Alex groans vaguely, hides his face in Henry’s neck and starts mouthing his way down, swaying deliberately. Grabbing his hips, Henry’s blood spirals downwards, full of giddy bubbles. “I’d almost think you missed me,” he teases.

Alex pulls back immediately, sneering at him. If Henry were a confident gambler, he’d take a chance on believing that the glowing depth in Alex’s eyes is real affection - but his heart can only risk so much at any given moment, so he pushes that impossibility aside and smiles lightly at Alex’s reply: “As if. Missed your mouth, maybe, and all the things you should be doing with it right now.”

“I certainly didn’t miss  _ your  _ mouth,” Henry says. “You really never do shut up, do you?”

Obviously about to retort, Henry presses his fingers to Alex’s lips to stall him. Then, carefully, he braces Alex on his lap and leans around him to grab the cupcake from the table. Raising it, a slight shyness grips him as Henry quietly offers, “Happy birthday.”

Blinking in surprise, Alex grins slowly. “Hey, thanks,” he says, soft amazement in his voice. It’s gone a moment later, replaced with cheekiness. “And what else did you get me?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Henry says. And then, because he’s had a fair drop of champagne and Alex seems oddly stunned, he smushes the cake against Alex’s throat and smudges his delicious skin with icing.

Hollering, Alex grabs Henry’s wrist, then laughs. “What the fu…”

His voice trails away when Henry fits his mouth to Alex’s neck and sucks, firm and slow, licking an unhurried track, humming happily. The icing is indeed beautiful, rich and sweet.

“So, this is what you’re really into, is it,” Alex asks, his words somewhat breathless, one hand tangling in Henry’s hair as he arches his neck, inviting deeper kisses. “You just have a kink for me covered in cake, huh?”

“You pulled me into that fucking monstrosity,” Henry mumbles into his skin, tongue slipping downwards. He gives voice to a rare spite. “Philip deserved it, the one time he splits from precious tradition…”

“Hey?” Alex is distracted, amazingly. “You have fucking  _ cake _ traditions?”

“Yes,” Henry says, fumbling at his shirt with one hand, struggling to slip the buttons open. “Royal weddings always have a fruit cake with royal icing.”

“No one wants to fucking eat that,” Alex sneers, reaching for the cupcake still in Henry’s hand.

“No,” Henry agrees. “That’s why there’s a groom’s cake. I warned Philip at the family meeting.”

“You had family meetings,” Alex repeats, sounding appalled. “About what flavour the fucking wedding cake would be.”

“Mm.” Henry manages to pull a button open and smiles at the small victory. “I said to him when he told us … ‘are you sure about the icing, Pip? Breaking tradition might give you aneurysm.’ But the end result truly was more satisfying, horrific fallout aside.”

Alex laughs. “Are you telling me you’re glad I destroyed your brother’s wedding?”

“Not as such,” Henry murmurs. “But there is a certain ... _glee_... in it. Will you shut up, I’m trying to seduce you.”

“You’re not trying very hard,” Alex says, shoving him back against the cushions. He raises the cake to his mouth, curves his lips around the icing and Henry’s breath catches. The buttercream smears in the corner of his mouth, and Henry arches up to lick it away.

Alex turns and kisses him. His tongue is sweet, sweeping into Henry’s mouth, meeting his.

They’re not supposed to be in love, but happy warmth soars through Henry’s chest as he leans into the kiss, fills every atom of his tipsy body with sweet, adoring passion. It seeps from his skin and presses into every place that Alex touches him. Henry gives into it, lets love warm him, lets it override his better senses. It adds heat to his kiss; Alex makes some slight noise and rushes against him. 

“Unh,” Alex breathes, lips shifting against Henry’s as he draws in a shaky breath. “Baby…”

Shivers ripple down Henry’s spine, his hands convulsing on Alex’s body and tugging him closer as he arches towards him. “Bed?” he gasps, the need in his blood flooding out everything else.

Laughing against his mouth, Alex kisses him softly before nodding and scrambling to his feet. He snatches up the abandoned bottle of champagne and takes a deep swallow, then coughs as the bubbles burn down his throat. Fizz clings to his lips and Henry stands and slips both hands around his head, holds him still and sweeps his tongue after the lingering tickle of wine.

Alex doesn’t wait for him, but wraps his fist in Henry’s shirt and stumbles backwards towards the bed, hauling Henry after him. His legs hit the mattress and he staggers for a moment before Henry shoves him down and climbs on top of him, snatching the champagne bottle from his grasp before it tips and depositing it by the bed.

He pins Alex down and begins slowly to pull him apart, finally getting his shirt open. He drags his tongue down Alex’s chest and it heaves against him with each starving breath Alex sucks in. Wondrous delight permeates Henry’s body - that he gets to see this version of Alex, the one that puts his unshakeable confidence aside and lets Henry overwhelm him. 

His surrender to Henry’s touch is immediate and absolute and it takes all of Henry’s strength not to give in to the urge to whisper sweet words against Alex’s belly as he rediscovers all the perfect, secret parts of him.

Grasping Alex’s belt, Henry slowly pulls it free, delighting in the way Alex arcs up on the bed as the strap slides beneath him … but he presses his mouth into Alex’s abs, kissing him as an excuse to hide his face, to hide what he’s feeling. Sliding his tongue over Alex’s skin, Henry knows he’s safe like this, with Alex too zoned in on the physical to give a damn about what he’s feeling. Henry’s known it from the very first night and while it really fucking hurts, like sharp fingers twisting around his heart, it’s reassuring too.

Together, they scrabble Alex’s trousers open and then Henry slides to the floor between his knees, drags the clothes down with him, and looks up through his lashes.

Alex has never looked better, gazing back at him with eyes blown dark and lusty, lips parted in a breathless pant, open shirt tangled around his arms. Henry curls his hand around Alex’s cock, squeezes as he licks his lips, a slow tempting promise.

“Fuck you, sweetheart,” Alex growls, squinting at him, but then Henry slides his mouth around the head of Alex’s cock and his next insult splutters away on a shaking breath. “Ohh…”

A smug chuckle echoes low in Henry’s throat. He curves his tongue around Alex’s cock, reveling in his taste, the familiar feel of him. Henry draws back, pulling his lips off in a lazy kiss that spurs a string of unintelligible blabbering from Alex as he collapses back on the mattress and reaches one hand down, curls it in Henry’s hair.

Spitting into his palm, Henry slides his fist up Alex’s erection and smiles a drunken little grin as inspiration strikes him. He reaches with his other hand for the forgotten bottle of champagne and hoists it to his mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing, stopping for a goddamn  _ drink _ ?” Alex barks at him, up on his elbows and glowering for all he’s worth. “Are you for real?”

Serenely, Henry closes his mouth around the bottle and sucks deep, then moves fast before the bubbles can burn away, puts his mouth around Alex’s cock again and nearly chokes at the vibrant reaction it earns him.

The wine fizzes and Alex’s fist twists a brutal sting in his hair as a stream of explosive language bursts from him, hips jerking. 

Humming blissfully, Henry sets himself to pulling Alex to absolute pieces. There’s nowhere else on earth he would rather be than between Alex’s legs, giving him head for his birthday. Touching him is a paradise that Henry had never expected he’d be granted access to. He relishes every stolen minute Alex allows him.

Pacing himself, Henry steadfastly ignores the pound of need permeating his own bloodstream. He wants this to last all night, just him with his mouth around Alex’s cock, slowly working him over while listening to the soundtrack of his mumbled swearing.

Alex has other ideas. He writhes against the bed as Henry swirls his tongue around him, sucks him slow and deep, palms his balls. His fingers slide through Henry’s hair, flexing against his scalp, trying to hold him close when Henry edges away. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he gasps, arching urgently against the bed.

Henry glances up at him and his heartbeat quickens at the flush in Alex’s cheeks, the desperation in his eyes, that it’s  _ him _ who’s put it there.Their eyes meet and moments later it’s over - Alex’s head snaps back and a winded cry splits his throat as he comes, hand tight in Henry’s hair, body surging towards him in waving throbs.

Henry licks him clean, swallows and mouths vaguely at Alex’s hip before resting his cheek against Alex’s thigh. “Happy birthday,” he whispers, slightly hoarse and not caring at all. 

There’s no answer, just Alex’s hand combing across his scalp and the rough heave of him catching his breath. 

And they’re  _ not  _ supposed to be in love, but all the same, Henry’s drowning in the sweetness of what he feels, alone like this with Alex. For once, he actually wants to stay the night - not like in France, when they’d had too much red wine to be sensible, and not like every other night, where even with Alex tucked against him he’s desperate to maintain even one tiny shred of emotional sanity. Tonight Henry just  _ wants  _ to give in to what he feels, to feel it all and fully.

But then Alex finally manages to speak and it cracks Henry’s heart into aching fault lines that threaten to quake apart. “Where’s that cake?”

Clearing his throat, Henry carefully straightens himself and cants away from Alex’s warmth. Noticing the champagne beside him, he snatches it up and drains the bottle in one aggravated gulp.

Alex’s hand tightens in his hair, holds him as Henry tries to shift away, and then he’s sitting on the side of the bed with his legs hooked around Henry’s back. He holds him for a moment, kisses him. Sighing, Alex draws back and presses their noses together, whispers, “You’re amazing. Whatever you’re thinking, fucking stop it.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” Henry lies.

Blinking in obvious skepticism, Alex kisses him again, tender and limpid in his post-orgasm warmth. His fingers twist through Henry’s hair and hold him close, lingering sweetness staining his tongue from the icing. Time slips away in the press of his lips. Alex’s kisses aren’t a gentle coax to draw Henry away from his problems - no, instead they’re an arrogant demand for his attention. It always works.

Collapsing into the magnetic force of the kiss, Henry chases after something he knows he won’t find in it, but still … it’s enough for him to be allowed to search for it. For now, that’s enough.

It has to be enough.

Soft and slow, Henry sinks into the kiss, hands sliding around Alex’s naked hips. Gentle fingers settle on his neck, thumb pressing into his throat and Henry wishes they were ordinary people, who could do this for hours at a time without obligation and duty and cameras waiting just outside the door.

And he refuses to think beyond that. It’s a bottomless spiral of melancholy he wants to stay away from tonight.

At length satisfied that Henry’s mind has stopped whatever perseverative chaos it was tipping towards, Alex rips away from him and slides past him, clambering to shaky feet and stumbling across the room. There’s a grin in his voice, a direct negative correlation to the impulse of misery that throbs through Henry the instant their bodies part. 

“Ah,” he beams, snatching the cupcake from the coffee table. “My birthday cake.”

Eyeing Alex for a moment, the gloriousness of his runner’s body shamelessly naked, Henry forces all his angst firmly down and shoves himself to his feet, striding to the minibar and seeking escape in another bottle of wine. 

Alex slips up beside him as Henry takes his first mouthful, bubbles searing down his throat. “You gonna share this with me?” he asks, offering the cupcake.

“It’s for you,” Henry murmurs, ignoring the rapid thud of his heart as Alex presses against him.

Fingers strum down his chest, and then there’s the slide of icing sticking to his skin, wiping off Alex’s fingers as he clumsily re-attempts to tug Henry out of his clothes. With one hand curled around the plump cake, he struggles to make much progress.

Drinking deep from the bottle, Henry endures his fumbles for a few moments longer before a smile drags across his face, affection effectively stifling his darker mood impulses. “What the devil are you doing?”

“Unwrapping my present,” Alex replies smartly, finally succeeding in getting another of Henry’s buttons open. His hands wriggle downwards, and buttercream smears along the exposed inches of Henry’s chest. “So I can play with it.”

“‘It’ prefers ‘him’,” Henry says lightly, and Alex shrugs.

“Details, baby.” Hands stalling, he glares up at Henry with a brilliant scowl. “Fucking help me out here, would you?”

With those words, Alex snatches the champagne bottle from Henry’s hand and steps back, eyeing him expectantly. Rolling his eyes, Henry calmly finishes undoing his shirt, shakes it off, drops it carelessly to the floor as he holds Alex’s gaze and reaches to unbuckle his belt.

Watching him, Alex drinks directly from the bottle as well, large gulps that make his throat shift, that makes Henry want to kiss his neck - and then he chokes and coughs, laughing a little as he plunks the bottle down and steps back towards Henry.

Sour bubbles burst against his tongue as Alex kisses him. His hands wrap around Henry’s undone waistband, smudging icing over his belly, the high arch of his bare hip, across the panels of his trousers … and without a doubt, Henry is going to fucking hate buttercream until the day he dies. It sticks to his skin, begins to melt and dribble. Easing Alex back, he says in a deceptively mild tone, “Watch it, would you?”

Eyes scoping downwards, Alex smirks. “Oops,” he says without any contrition at all, and instead hooks his fingers through the last of the icing, sliding it from the top of the cake and smearing it all down Henry’s belly, sweeping his fingers into his boxers and curling deftly around his cock.

A shudder ripples through Henry and his breath snags in the base of his throat; he forces startled words out anyway. “You absolute fuck.”

A devilish grin breaks over Alex’s face, his fingers tightening with suggestive intent, icing smushing against Henry’s skin. He’s definitely appalled, but it’s not enough to override how good it feels every time Alex touches him.

Dragging in an unsteady breath, Henry desperately tries to hold onto some semblance of dignity. “So, truth will out,” he says, voice strained. “It’s  _ you  _ that has a kink for me covered in cake.”

“You,” Alex says vaguely, “just  _ are  _ my kink.” He drops the cupcake down beside the wine, then drops himself to his knees. Taking the words as an indication that alcohol is beginning to fuzz Alex’s mind too, Henry ignores them, and then he ignores everything else as Alex yanks off his clothes, pushes him onto the couch, and settles between his knees.

Alex may have covered him in icing - again - but at least this time he’s very thorough about helping clean up the mess he’s created.


End file.
